Hummingbirds
by his loss
Summary: Mafia AU. Disjointed timeline. Gokudera is a mafioso, but mainly he is just a boy in love with blood on his hands and he's only fifteen.
1. skyfalling

_I was dreaming when I wrote this/ So sue me if I go too fast_

All characters belong to their respective creator.

**Modest Mouse song inspiration:**_ Bury Me With It_

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_**Hummingbirds  
**_

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**i: skyfalling**

_ (we were shootin' at a mound of dirt/ well nothing was broken nothing was hurt_)

The first time Tsuna orders you to kill, it's in the dead of Namimori summer, peace and quiet blasted to hell. His arm is bleeding, and his body is awkwardly sprawled over the rubble that used to be his house. In the back of his mind, and in the back of yours, you pray that Nana is at the market. All you can hear is his voice, torn and breaking on the edge of shock.  
"G-get rid of them, G-goku-dera-kuh-kun..."  
Later, when you watch your explosives rip flesh from bone and spit on the ground, muttering, "Don't mess with the Vongola," into the lifeless eyes of the Varia dogs, too angry to be sick to your stomach, you kiss the guardian ring on your finger. Welcome to the family, Hayato.

It isn't difficult to stop the bleeding. Your hands shake as you fix the bandages and you know that you weren't alone in your panic, but for another reason entirely. Tsuna's body is frail, the finger that bears the Vongola ring a weak _consigliere_ to an even more pathetic _famiglia_of a fist. You kiss the ring and hold back the bile in the back of your throat.

"Go-gokudera...? What do we d-do now?" he asks. There is a puddle of sick around your feet, and the bomb shelter stinks of it already, Namimori heat spilling in like teargas. You look up at him, wondering why in the hell you have to be two boys whose game of guns and bombs and blood has suddenly become very real.

"_Decimo_... leave it to me."  
The realization that you actually love this boy is greater than the awareness that you are now a true Mafioso.


	2. burials

_I was dreaming when I wrote this/ So sue me if I go too fast_

All characters belong to their respective creator.

**Modest Mouse song inspiration:**_ Bury Me With It_

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_**Hummingbirds  
**_

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**ii. burials**

_(but the kids were just shooting at the buses and the cars)_

The second time Tsuna orders you to kill, it isn't so much an order as a wavering plea. It's early morning and your school uniform sticks to your skin from the humidity and from the blood patching your torso. You feel weak. In the distance, you hear a voice repeating the sale of warabimochi on a recorded track outside the market. Tsuna clings to you, and his fist is cracked and bleeding.

Two men lay on the ground, motionless. One has his guts spilling out onto the pavement, courtesy of your dry explosions. His tongue falls out of his mouth, eyes rolled back. The other is still squirming, most of his nose smashed into his face. Tsuna's fists are not as frail as you thought before.

"Goku-deh-dera... please."

His eyes are tightly shut and you exhale, pulling back the stock on the small handgun concealed in your jacket. You bend over and press it hard to the man's temple, ask again who sent him, though it's worthless.

Tsuna's eyes fly open and he pulls back on your arm. "Gokudra-kun! Don't. Just... he'll die on his own, right?" There is innocence and loss of it in his voice and you want to agree with him, but for all the blood the man can still betray your location. "I have to, Juudaime. Close your eyes."

He doesn't, not for a long moment. When he does you pull the trigger immediately. Tsuna flinches and drags you away, fingers shaking as he examines your wounds. You bleed. Inwardly and outwardly.


	3. meetings

_I was dreaming when I wrote this/ So sue me if I go too fast_

All characters belong to their respective creator.

**Modest Mouse song inspiration:**_ Bury Me With It_

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_**Hummingbirds  
**_

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**iii. meetings**

_(well the point was fast but it was too blunt to miss)_

You're still a kid. You hide explosives in your sleeves and pretend that your sister's face gives you bouts of nausea. You're fifteen. You make up a cipher all for yourself and your first cigarette is smoked in secret. Your father calls you to his study.

Sawada Tsunayoshi. You're supposed to go to Japan to befriend him. Stay close to him. That's it. Do good in school and do something about Sawada not having any friends or hand-eye coordination. By the way, we smuggled over some major dynamite and here's a gun.

Sawada Tsunayoshi is innocent.

He is a hurricane of clumsiness and awkwardness. He's in middle school. No one cares how big his eyes are, how warm and trusting he is. You care. Maybe too much. You're both boys, so you laugh it off and hope against hope that you won't screw this up.

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Sawada Tsunayoshi is nothing special. Not to his classmates, anyway. So if he gets bullied he's used to it. You aren't. You only have a vague idea of why you've been sent to Japan with a catch of explosives and a gun to just be his _friend_. You've grown up around men in suits, codes, money passed under the table. No. Sawada Tsunayoshi is something special. You bark it full into the faces of the upperclassmen you throw down to cement.

"Don't mess with the Vongola," you hiss, itching for a cigarette because your hands are shaking, knowing that it was reckless to lose your cool. Tsuna is wedged up against the cornerstones of the school gate. He looks shocked and afraid and a little ashamed.

"_Decimo_," you choke out. "Forgive me."

His eyes widen and he darts away. When you catch him he struggles and shouts into the Namimori suburb silence. "You knew!"

You knew.

You weren't supposed to, but you figured it out. There is a picture in Sawada's house, of a tall blond man with eyes like a quiet storm, like the harshness of sky. You know that face. You don't remember the name, but you know the name. You know about his son. This boy. This boy you might love.

"Please, _Decimo_," you start to beg. He struggles again.

"Don't call me that," he says, defeated. "I get it. I know why you're here." He heaves a sigh. "But could you call me..." he pauses, and he looks flushed with embarrassment, perhaps because he doesn't know how to give an order yet. His cheeks are dusted deep pink and his eyes are bright. "Just... _Juudaime_? When you say it in Italian... it... I don't understand. I want to make it something I understand." He licks his lips, relaxes his shoulders against your grip. You let go. "_Per favore, Gokudera. Fare... fare il servizio di chimare... Juudaime._"

You nod, a little stunned at his sudden lapse into your native language. "_Come desideri... Juudaime,_" you breathe.


End file.
